


Leave Your Love on the Ice

by anonymous_bob



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Romance, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Happy Ending, Ice Skating, Identity Swap, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Olympics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rivalry, Romance, Sex, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Social Media, Soulmates, Unreliable Narrator, figure skating, yuuri has a different childhood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22770031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_bob/pseuds/anonymous_bob
Summary: In which you switch souls with your soulmate once a year.In which Viktor and Yuuri hate the concept of soulmates.In which they form an intense rivalry throughout their skating careers because when you hate the conceptYou come to hate the person too.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 36
Kudos: 216





	1. This Was How It Went

Viktor did not believe in soulmates, not since his father left for a younger, prettier, blonde Russian, and his mother committed suicide.

They had been soulmates, and he had been five.

Two years later, Viktor had his first swap. He’d felt a sharp tug at his abdomen, and suddenly he was on cold, stone steps surrounded by trees. Viktor stood up hesitantly. He was in a forest, and behind him was a strange red structure. Viktor tugged sharply on his—no, his soulmate’s—scalp, coming away with short black strands instead of his own familiar silver.

His soulmate’s hands were smaller than his. So younger then, Viktor concluded. 

The red structure behind him was imposing in all the ways it shouldn’t have been—not to Viktor who has lived his whole life in St. Petersburg, surrounded by buildings much sturdier than it.

Perhaps it was the sense of sacred stillness that pissed him off. Viktor ran through the damned thing and didn’t stop even when he knew it was no longer in sight. He ran and ran, until a lurch in his stomach sent him back, sprawled onto the familiar cold of the ice rink in St. Petersburg.

“ _Vitya!_ ” Yakov yelled.

.

.

.

Soulmates were a sacred gift the gods sent, or so Yuuri had been told, far too many times by his grandmother in Yakushima. 

But his parents were not soulmates, and so naturally, his grandmother hated his father. And then Yuuri’s mother had died of terminal sickness, and his grandmother blamed his father for everything. 

In other words, they were being kicked out of Yakushima. So here he was, in the forest he grew up playing in, on the steps of the ancient Shinto shrine created by his ancestors. 

Yuuri’s first swap had him falling on cold, hard ice. 

He was four.

.

.

.

Viktor looked up to see his coach’s red face. 

“—falling everywhere like you haven’t been skating for _four years_ —”

So Yakov hadn’t realized he’d switched.

Viktor was seven and wanted nothing to do with soulmates. 

“Don’t be angry, Yakov!” Viktor laughed it off. “I can skate now, see?” And he did a simple spin to demonstrate.

.

.

.

When he switched back, Yuuri was horribly lost. The swap couldn’t have lasted for a full two minutes, yet he was now in a section of the forest he did not know.

The sun was setting and Yuuri shivered. Summer was ending. An hour passed, and then two, then four.

Yuuri whimpered as darkness fell on the forest and his other senses heightened. He fell asleep against a tree much later, his hopes for a kind soulmate his grandmother had droned on and on about dead and buried.

Like his mother, probably.

.

His father finally found him in the morning, and they ended up staying in Yakushima for another month, during which Yuuri tried not to die from hypothermia and then a subsequent cold.

His soulmate had almost killed him.

But Yuuri said none of this and claimed that he hadn’t been paying attention and got lost, suffering through multiple lectures from all members of his family and then the neighbors as he stuck through with the lie.

It was fine, for Yuuri thinks that if his father heard the world “soulmate” one more time, he would break.

.

They moved to Hatsetsu, a peaceful seaside town not far from Yakushima. Yuuri had given in a month later and asked for ice skating lessons—strangely feeling more homesick for the ice than his own hometown. And when he stepped on the ice for the first time since the swap, he felt like he had lost, in a way.

Yuuri could only hope that his stupid soulmate did speed skating, or hockey, or something.

.

.

.

The next time they swapped, it was raining. Viktor blinked and almost dropped the umbrella as he registered the sounds of an tense argument. 

He was at a funeral. 

Japan, Viktor slowly thinks, as he takes in the black kimonos and yukatas, the rapid argument, the unfamiliar kanji carefully inscribed onto the marble gravestone. He tries to blame his soulmate, for making him remember unpleasant memories (his own mother’s funeral), but he figures he couldn’t.

His mother’s funeral had been different—black suits, Christian services, and an excessive amount of candles. Her cause of death was carefully avoided in the conversations of the few in attendance.

“Yuuri. Yuuri? 家に帰りましょう.” Viktor jerked as the man that had been arguing earlier addressed him. His stomach gave a jolt, and he was back in his room in a second. Viktor looked around to see that nothing had changed.

“Yuuri,” he whispered in the silence. It was a nice sounding enough name. 

But Viktor didn’t need a soulmate. He was thankful that it would be easier to avoid his, with the language barrier and all. 

.

In the morning, Viktor was furious. His debut into the figure skating world was in four hours and here he was, scrubbing at his cheeks.

Yuuri had written something in Japanese on his face in permanent marker, and it wasn’t coming off. Ten minutes later when the writing had faded somewhat, Viktor bolted to the rink.

Yakov was pissed that his own skater was late for a competition hosted at his own rink. But they’d been able to borrow someone’s concealer with minimal shouting, and the writing was fully covered. Viktor had missed the warm-ups on the ice, and when it was his turn to skate, his fear of the audience seeing through the concealer made him pop all his jumps.

Yakov hadn't cared because nothing really counted at the novice level, but Viktor did. This was supposed to be his chance to wow the audience, to show the culmination of all the hours he spent on the ice.

He thinks he hates Yuuri, really.

.

.

.

They’d switched again, and when he returned, Yuuri could hear the disappointed words of Miss Sonoko.

“—showing off in front of the other students, ignoring me—”

Yuuri was horrified. His father had saved up money for a trip to Sapporo on the other side of the country because Minako had put in a recommendation for Yuuri to Miss Sonoko, a real figure skating coach. 

And he—no, his soulmate—had failed the performance evaluation. Yuuri hadn’t wanted to reveal his swapping incidences with anyone, but he did not want to let down Minako or his father.

“I switched with my soulmate, Sonoko-san,” Yuuri interrupted hurriedly.

Miss Sonoko whirled around on him. “Really,” she said in disbelief. “Your soulmate doesn’t know your own name?”

“They never got the chance,” Yuuri replied defensively. Miss Sonoko sighed.

“If I gave everyone who claimed that they had a swap a second chance, I would have much more students than I have today. My apologies Katsuki-san, Katuski-kun.” The door to the ice arena in Sapporo closed in their faces.

A moment passed. Yuuri’s father sighed. “Yuuri,” he began. “Was it your soulmate that made you want to skate?” Yuuri’s silence was an answer in itself.

“That time in the forest, was it—?” Yuuri swallowed uncomfortably and jerked his head in what was supposed to resemble a nod. 

His father looked at the time on his watch. “Hm. Alright, then. Since we’re here, let’s go sightseeing for a few hours and then take the train home.”

Later, he would assure Yuuri that he hadn’t liked Miss Sonoko anyway, but all Yuuri could think about was how they’d returned home, pockets lighter than before. He remembered how his father had worked overtime, skipping meals, just so he could prove himself to Miss Sonoko and kickstart his skating career.

He was coming home with no official coach.

Yuuri drifted off to bed, his hatred towards his soulmate a bit deeper, and completely missing the fact that his father had never smiled as much as he did when they’d eaten ridiculously expensive street food earlier that day and laughed as the birds pooped on people in the park.

Sure, Viktor Nikiforov was a selfish human being, but was Katsuki Yuuri not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 家に帰りましょう - Let's go home


	2. It Begins Uphill

Viktor found himself jerked from his peaceful sleep one day to fall on cold, hard ice.

“Yuuri! 大丈夫?” Viktor recognized the phrase from hundreds of episodes of anime. He answered the concerned woman with a shaky “Daijōbu” and she nodded. She said something to him in rapid Japanese and then left.

Viktor stood on the ice and stared down at his skates, confused. They were figure skates, he noted. Was it presumptuous to think that Yuuri had learned figure skating because of him? Viktor decided to practice his short program in the meantime, the motions coming to him naturally—a step sequence there, then a transition into a camel spin.

Viktor was 16 and had already taken the world by storm, shattering the junior world records and snatching gold at the JGPF and the Junior World Championships year after year.

But this year was different. This year was his second year in seniors, and he was going to take gold in the Russian nationals. As the notes of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto #2 in C Minor, Op. 18 played in his mind, Viktor transitioned out of his Ina Bauer into the first jump—a quadruple toe loop.

Except Yuuri’s body was 13, undergoing the first signs of puberty and barely able to nail the triple toe loop as it was. Viktor realized too late and then landed all wrong, a jolt of pain shooting up his right leg from his ankle. He tried to get up but the sharp pain that accompanied the pressure on his ankle forced him down again.

“Yuuri!” the woman who had returned shouted for the second time that day, her eyes wide. And Viktor felt himself jerking back to Russia, leaving behind the mess he’d created.

He found himself on the chair at his desk and Viktor gasped, catching his breath. Guilt rushed through him in waves. Maybe his soulmate would hate him so much, Viktor presumed, that he would give up figure skating entirely. Already injured at such a young age, maybe the woman he saw earlier would discourage Yuuri from ever skating again.

It would be for the best, and there would be no way for them to ever meet. Viktor looked at his desk and saw his school assignment. 

It was one piece of paper, but it was enough. The words _Viktor Nikiforov_ in Cyrillic at the top glared back at him with the English translation carefully printed underneath. 

_Not fair, Yuuri_ , Viktor thinks. Without Yuuri’s last name, there was no way to put a face to his soulmate.

Not that Viktor was interested.

.  
.  
.

Yuuri was positively _seething_. Apparently, Viktor had attempted to do a quad and sprained _his_ ankle.

A week before the Kyushu regional competition. His Junior debut.

“What were you thinking, Yuuri!” Minako raged. “Missing this competition means you have no chance of Nationals—and you won’t be recognized by the JSF, and that means no chance of qualifying for the Junior Grand Prix, or the Junior Worlds—”

Yes, Yuuri knew all of that. And he knew that he would have been able to do it. His step sequences and spins were good, and his jumps consistency could always be improved throughout the season.

But now he couldn’t. Because Viktor-effing-Nikiforov just _had_ to show off every time they swapped and screw up his figure skating career. If Viktor thought this was going to deter him, he was _wrong_. 

The next day, Yuuri pulled up the live streams of the Russian Nationals and watched Viktor’s short program to Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto #2 in C Minor, Op. 18. The music was too heavy for a skater as young as Viktor, Yuuri decided. He was faking his emotions, with absolutely no idea of what the song means to him, and Yuuri thinks the judges could tell.

He watches with unabashed satisfaction as Viktor falls on his second quadruple toe loop and abandons the rest of the combination.

.  
.  
.

> **Katsuki Yuuri, Japan’s Rising Ace**
> 
> **Hanada Ito**
> 
> With his Junior debut this year, Katsuki Yuuri, a fourteen year old male figure skater from Japan, has taken the Junior figure skating world by storm. With a bronze at Nationals, and a silver and gold at his respective qualifier events for the Junior Grand Prix Finals.../read more/

.

Viktor was seventeen and suddenly, he knew a lot more about Yuuri—like his last name (at last), that he was turning fifteen this season, and that his step sequences were as good as some of the senior skaters.

Viktor thinks that Yuuri made music when he skated, and that his inconsistent jumps were what stopped him from achieving higher scores. But he watches all of Yuuri’s past performances anyway and admires the smooth transitions, the effortless flexibility, and the steadiness of Yuuri’s free leg.

Viktor thinks that Yuuri’s skating is like water on ice—soft, flowing, and spilling with emotions; quiet and calm, and then a raging storm.

A beautiful storm, nonetheless, and one that he could watch all day.

.

When Viktor switches with Yuuri on a warm summer afternoon in the off-season, he was being kissed. Viktor startles and makes a strangled noise in his throat, and the boy pushes against him harder, chapped lips biting his—no, Yuuri’s—bottom lip. When they finally pull away, Viktor feels anger rising in him. 

The boy mistakes his fury for a blush and smirks. “またね.” And then he was gone.

Viktor does not know why he feels so betrayed, but he does.

.  
.  
.

When Yuuri switches with Viktor next, he wakes up in bed next to an unfamiliar girl. Viktor had just finished his free skate, Yuuri remembers. He gets out of bed and tries to ignore the sticky feeling on his thighs, locking himself in the bathroom.

Yuuri wonders if Viktor was trying to prove a point—making sure that Yuuri knew his sexuality and would not harbor any hopes of them having a relationship.

As if he wanted to.

Yuuri hacked Viktor’s hair off. The long, iconic silver locks fell to the ground, and when Yuuri looked in the mirror, cold, blue eyes stared back. 

.  
.  
.

> **Viktor Nikiforov’s Surprising Haircut Mid-Season**
> 
> **Eugene Miles**
> 
> When Viktor Nikiforov stepped out onto the ice for his exhibition skate after the Cup of China, he gave the audience quite a shock. The long, sweeping hair that had been his trademark feature for so long had been chopped off overnight, giving the Russian skater a more mature and classy look.
> 
> _“He_ has _been in Seniors for a while now,”_ one fan wrote on Twitter. _“It was time for a change, and I’d say he nailed it.”_
> 
> _“From a skater’s perspective, it was a nice change that was not executed at the right time,”_ Georgi Popovich, a male figure skater and Viktor’s rinkmate, stated. _“His mature look does not suit his theme for this season.”_
> 
> Indeed, many agree that Viktor’s previous longer hairstyle would have suited his song choices this season (Swan Lake, Sleeping Beauty’s Waltz) much better. In fact, the judges have not been giving him higher presentation scores than what he achieved at the Cup of China. The gap between Viktor and the silver medalist at this year’s World Championships was much closer than in previous years, with only two points separating them.

Viktor sighed and was about to close the tab when another article caught his eye.

> **Yuuri Katsuki (17) Breaks Viktor Nikiforov’s Junior Free Skate Record**
> 
> **Emily Reyes**
> 
> In the Junior Grand Prix Finals of the 2008-2009 season, Yuuri Katsuki broke Viktor Nikiforov’s junior short program record of 85.2, his own performance of “Epilogue” (from “A Tale of Two Sisters”) earning an astounding 88.3. Yet, Yuuri surprised us once again during the Junior World Championships by breaking Viktor’s junior record for the free skate as well. His skate to “Once Upon a December” (from “Anastasia) earned a well deserved score of 151.9, and marked the first time a junior free skate score had broken into the 150s.
> 
> In an interview after his performance, Yuuri expressed that his only regret was not breaking the combined record as well in his last season as a junior skater.
> 
> We all expect more incredible programs from Yuuri in the future as he transitions to the senior division. The 2010 Winter Olympics is actually.../read more/

Viktor stared at the article as he petted Makkachin on the couch. Viktor was 20, and next season, he was going to _destroy_ Yuuri.

.  
.  
.

Yuuri hated Viktor and his stupid free skate program for the 2007-2008 season. 

Tchaikovsky’s _Valse Sentimentale_ —a beautiful piece by his favorite composer, but then Viktor had gone ahead and let it slip to the press that he was working on _Valse Sentimentale_ for his free program.

Yuuri knew Viktor could jump quads in his sleep. He would rather die than perform a program with the same music and then have it be considered underwhelming compared to Viktor Nikiforov, figure skating legend.

So Yuuri had to explain to Minako that no, he did not have a free program song in mind after all.

Yuuri hated that Viktor’s free skate was beautiful. His step sequences were the cleanest they had ever been that year, and he had added a quad in the second half of his program for good measure.

_Valse Sentimentale_ was the first piece that Viktor, at age 19, had choreographed all by himself. It was a sorrowful piece, beautiful in its melancholy, and Yuuri fell in love with Viktor’s skating the first time he performed it at Russian Nationals. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 大丈夫 - Are you okay?  
> またね - See you  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUuusqy50yk - Tchaikovsky's Valse Sentimentale


	3. Katsuki Yuuri: Origin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind comments!

Yuuri skates Viktor’s step sequences in his warm ups. 

Or he used to, in his junior days when it would be less obvious. But now Yuuri was competing in the Senior Grand Prix Series. It would be awkward if someone noticed and assumed he was a fan.

Yuuri did _not_ want to be known as Viktor’s fan. But skating Viktor’s step sequences in warm-ups had become a tradition for Yuuri. It wasn’t his fault Viktor chose nice songs and was a good choreographer. 

“Take a deep breath,” Celestino said, patting Yuuri on the back. “The audience is going to love you.” 

Celestino Cialdini was Yuuri’s new, official figure skating coach. The Italian had taken notice of him when he’d swept gold in his last junior season and invited him to come train in Detroit. With the JSF covering some competition fees now that he was in the senior division, Yuuri agreed. 

He’d left so much behind, but at the same time, there was so much in front of him that Yuuri never had the chance to look back.

When he steps out onto the ice to the audience’s applause at the Trophée Éric Bompard—his first senior international event—Yuuri begins to realize just how crazy his career choice was. But he was too far in that if he hesitated and stumbled, he would never be able to catch up.

Yuuri assumed his starting position, an arm extended low as if dipping an invisible partner. The first notes ring out in the silent arena.

_Danse Macabre_ —Dance of Death. Yuuri’s senior debut short program.

.

.

.

Viktor knew that Yuuri skated his step sequences in warm-ups. 

It was the ultimate diss—a junior skater deeming his step sequences simple enough to skate as a warm-up. Viktor would skate and skate, and then next season, Yuuri would skate the same thing back. 

Presently, Viktor watched as Yuuri took to the ice at the Trophée Éric Bompard, the fourth qualifier event in the Grand Prix. He had always liked Yuuri’s song choices, even if Yuuri was more on the traditional side, choosing classical pieces for almost every program.

They were good pieces, though, Viktor grudgingly acknowledged. Sometimes, he watches Yuuri skate and wishes that it was him on the ice instead, skating to that piece—wishes that he had found the piece before Yuuri had. This year, Yuuri had chosen _Danse Macabre_ —a song supposedly about death if Viktor’s French was anything to go by. It was a more upbeat choice compared to last season, but Viktor finds himself confused for the first time as he watches Yuuri skate.

Songs about death should be slow and tragic, Viktor thinks. So why was _Danse Macabre_ more allegro than largo? What story was Yuuri trying to tell? Viktor does not understand why _Danse Macabre_ was so fast paced and energetic, and a sense of vague discomfort plagues him as he continues to watch Yuuri. 

_Triple axel. Step sequence. Layback spin. Quad toe loop, double salchow combination._

Discomfort is what someone feels when they don’t understand, but others do. People find their lack of knowledge frustrating.

_Spread eagle into a triple axel, triple toe loop combination. Another step sequence._

Here’s what Viktor sees: a brilliant skater catching up to him, slowly but surely, with every spin and every jump. Perhaps this fast-paced debut was Yuuri taking the figure skating world by storm, and a promise of Viktor’s own death and decline into irrelevance. 

Discomfort often drives people away, but when Viktor lets his sense of discomfort sit for a while, it leans and bends and gives way to thrill and excitement.

After all, no one has ever given him such a direct challenge before. He almost feels flattered.

.

.

.

Here’s what Yuuri knows: _Danse Macabre_ is in G Minor and accompanies the skeletons who dance hastily before the night ends and the dawn forces them back into their graves. It was a frantic piece composed to invoke anxiety in the bones of the deceased and the hearts of living men alike.

And Yuuri can relate, really. Every competition, he skates—dances—his heart out, and when he finishes, he knows he is one program closer to the end of his career. 

He is still too young to worry about retiring, but it is this constant awareness of how short figure skating careers are that makes him screw up his jumps every time. 

Yuuri shouldn’t be hesitating when he jumps, not when he should be landing them all and working towards the peak of his career. Not when he was supposed to honor all the sacrifices that had been made. 

He couldn’t mess up now, not with a theme so bold as “Rebirth.” And Yuuri finished his short with the modest score of 89.01, a personal best. He would have broken a record and been subjected to thunderous applause if this were juniors. 

But Yuuri was in seniors, and a score under 90 was considered child’s play. Yuuri came in second at the Trophée Éric Bompard after his free skate the following day, and accepts a silver medal on the podium, the weight heavy on his chest.

Yuuri figures he looks better in gold, but again, so does everyone else.

.

A figure kicked off the ice and spins—1, 2, 3, 4 times—and then slammed down on the ice, letting out a sharp hiss.

A bruise was forming on his right shoulder.

“Wow, Yuuri! That was your biggest fall yet!” Phichit said, ending the recording. 

“Yuuri!” Celestino called from across the rink where he was focusing on another skater. “That’s enough quads for today, go practice your step sequence for the free.”

Yuuri sighed as he skated to Phichit. The Thai skater handed him a bottle of water and he gulped it down greedily. 

“I need to focus on my jumps more than my step sequence, though,” Yuuri mumbled. Phichit tilted his head.

“Really? You’ve been nailing that quad sal pretty consistently, and if not, you still had all the rotations.”

“In practice,” Yuuri corrected. “In competitions I keep flubbing them. I need to increase my accuracy rate so I can stop messing up when I perform for real.”

Phichit hummed and then brightened. “Yuuri! I know _just_ what you should work on!” 

“What?”

“But first, you have to help me with my step sequence. You promised! I've been waiting since last week, Yuuri!”

.

.

.

Viktor woke up on the morning of the NHK Trophy, trepidation in his muscles.

Today was the day he was finally meeting Yuuri, the NHK Trophy being their last qualifier event before the final. He thought about how they would meet—maybe during warm-ups, maybe in between performances.

But none of that happens. He and Yuuri were in different skating groups, and the first time they had a chance to interact was on the podium. Viktor leaned down as yet another gold medal was placed around his neck and glanced at Yuuri on his right.

They made abrupt eye contact and Yuuri tenses up.

People often said that with Viktor Nikiforov in the competition, a silver medal was as good as gold. Nonetheless:

“I thought you were going to give me a challenge,” Viktor says. 

Yuuri makes an offended noise and stares at him incredulously. “Excuse me?”

Viktor hadn’t thought about how to respond this far into the conversation, and so he looks away in a panic as he continues to feel Yuuri’s burning glare on him. The photographer asks Yuuri and the bronze medalist to join Viktor on the top step, and Viktor could feel the tension in Yuuri’s muscles and the stiffness in the arm that barely touched his waist.

The photographer tells them to smile, and Viktor hopes the picture was taken before his turned into a grimace.

.

.

.

35.47 points.

That was how far Viktor had been from him at the NHK Trophy. And then he’d mocked Yuuri as they stood on the podium together for the first time, insinuating that Yuuri wasn’t a challenge. 

Viktor didn’t realize how much effort and hard work Yuuri has put into this. Or maybe he does, as a fellow figure skater, but he had gone ahead anyway and dismissed Yuuri as no serious threat.

Yuuri’s soulmate was a dick, and Yuuri berates himself for having ever hoped the opposite.

.

At the Grand Prix Final that he had qualified for by the skin of his teeth, Yuuri places fourth and watches as Viktor receives his 3rd gold medal that season. Celestino congratulates Yuuri for being so close to bronze and assures him that he will surely reach the podium in another year or so. 

Yuuri _knows_ he has to medal next year, or else the JSF will stop funding his competitions. Yuuri would not be able to handle the repercussions of that—not when he could barely afford coaching and college tuition fees as it was. This pressure led him to place second at Japanese Nationals, and the JSF sends the gold medalist to Vancouver.

As of the 2010 Winter Olympics in February, Yuuri was 18 years old and a 3 time Junior Nationals champion, 2 time Junior GPF silver medalist, 1 time Junior GPF champion, 1 time Junior Worlds bronze medalist, and 1 time Junior World champion. 

He was the silver medalist at both qualifier events for the 2009 GPF. The silver medalist again at Nationals.

Evidently, it wasn’t enough.

.

When they swap again, Yuuri finds himself in the middle of the Parade of Nations and he stumbles, causing the person behind him to curse sharply in Russian. Yuuri rips off the stupid Olympic sunglasses Viktor had been wearing and takes in his surroundings with unconcealed awe. 

Thousands of people cheer from the stands. Bright lights shine on the athletes as the next country is announced. 

Yuuri had always loved the Olympics, and here in the opening ceremony, he remembers why. The hype, the thrill, and the sheer _grandness_ of the occasion would give anyone a rush of pure adrenaline and excitement. Here at the Winter Olympics specifically, thousands of athletes, the best of the best, had come together to compete in sports most people only tune in to watch every four years. 

Yuuri takes in the dozens of flags and the background music. He hears conversations in Russian all around him and sees athletes pausing every now and then to take pictures. He feels himself getting lost in the masses, the sea of red around him crowding his vision.

And when Yuuri looks down and sees his own Team Russia jacket, it is a reminder that he hadn’t earned this, that it wasn’t his place to be here. He was stealing this special experience from Viktor; Viktor should be the one feeling proud, excited, happy—not him. On cue, Yuuri feels himself getting yanked over the Canadian border and back into his room in Detroit.

—Where he belonged. Not in a huge stadium in Vancouver. Not with thousands of people screaming for the distinguished athletes from all over the world. But Yuuri had been ripped away from his first taste of greatness so fast, that it left him aching for more.


	4. Dark Horse

“How do you not get scared?” Yuuri asks Phichit one night in their dorm, their papers sprawled across every surface as they cram for midterms. “Don’t you ever get afraid of messing up? How do you still skate with so much confidence after a fall?”

“Don’t be silly, Yuuri,” Phichit scoffs. “Everyone is scared of messing up. There’s just not as much expectations for me, you know?” Yuuri frowns, and Phichit continues. “You can’t name a single notable Thai skater in history. No one really thinks I’ll medal, even in Juniors, but you’re a podium favorite, Yuuri—Mr. Grand Prix Finals Silver Medalist.”

“That was one time,” Yuuri protests. “And I’ve always felt nervous before that. I threw up at a regional competition when I was 12.”

Phichit hums contemplatively as one hamster climbs up to chew on his hair. “When I skate, I think about making my country proud. Making Ciao Ciao proud and you proud, because you’ve both helped me a lot. At the end of the day, that desire wins over my stage fright, I think.”

“But I feel the same way,” Yuuri says, frustrated. “I—I don’t want to let down anyone either.”

“Think of it this way, Yuuri, when you fall, the worst is over. You can fall again, but that’s nothing you haven’t already experienced.”

The worst wasn’t over after a fall, Yuuri disagrees. He can fall again, completely bomb the skate, and bring so much shame to his country that the JSF would be forced to remove their funds.

Then he’d return home, a disappointment like people had always expected.

.  
.  
.

While Phichit embraces his hopes to deliver a solid performance on the ice, the same pressure drags Yuuri down and has him in a chokehold at every competition. 

Of course he knows that he is a competent skater. Despite how much Yuuri humbles himself to his coach, to Phichit, and to the interviewers, the fact remains that he was scouted and on a sports scholarship to train in the States. He medaled at the last Grand Prix and dominated his last year in Juniors.

Yuuri, for all his outward modesty, knows that he is good. It’s all the more frustrating that he couldn’t show it when it mattered.

.

> **Yuuri Katsuki, This Season’s Dark Horse**
> 
> In Yuuri Katsuki’s second season in the senior division at a mere 19 years old, he swept gold in his two qualifier events and earned a silver in the Grand Prix Final, behind Viktor Nikiforov (22) by only 10 or so points.
> 
> _Who is Yuuri Katsuki,_ you ask? _Where had he come from, all of a sudden?_
> 
> The truth is, Katsuki had always been a strong presence in the figure skating world. This year, an added quadruple salchow to his roster and step sequences recognized as level 4 by the judges have strengthened Katsuki’s programs tremendously.
> 
> In his last junior season... **/read more/**

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Yuuri was an artist before he was an athlete.

That’s what he tells himself every time he watches Viktor land another flawless quad. That’s what he repeats, with gritted teeth as he forces himself to perfect his step sequences before practicing new quad jumps.

Yuuri feels like he’s falling behind, and the creeping feeling of someone overtaking him was overwhelming sometimes. Which was stupid, because wasn’t it he who had been playing catch-up from the very start?

“Celestino,” Yuuri says frustratedly one practice after running his step sequences and transitions for hours. “I need to work on my jumps. I think the quad sal success percentage is still not ideal, and I need to stick the landing on the loop—”

Celestino clicks his tongue. “Yuuri, I know you got a level 4 last season, but you’re going to have to keep practicing to maintain that.”

“Jumps are just as important,” Yuuri argues. “They’re the most risky—the most anticipated part of a program, and they’re what the judges watch for the most. I can’t beat Viktor with just a toe loop and an inconsistent salchow.”

Celestino frowns. “Your strength lies in your musicality and artistry, Yuuri. I don’t want you to lose your identity just because you’re caught up in chasing after Nikiforov.” He gives Yuuri a firm pat on the back, and Yuuri’s voice dies in his throat as Celestino turns to give feedback to a novice skater.

Was that all Celestino saw him as? An immature skater who kept nipping at the heels of a skater out of his league? 

Skating back onto the center of the rink, Yuuri digs his blade into the ice before throwing himself into a step sequence again, his short program music playing faintly in his head.

Was that how the world viewed him? A self-important, third rate skater with the audacity to challenge their beloved champion?

Yuuri knows figure skating is half of what it is without the jumps. So he sneaks into the ice rink later that night, flushing with adrenaline as he nails his quad sal three times in a row. He choreographs a step sequence on the spot, skating to a piece Celestino had rejected at the start of the season.

At morning practice, Yuuri falls on the same quad he’d nailed just a few hours ago. 

Celestino fixes him with a patronizing stare, ordering him to take a break to go over his spins. The rush of victory from the previous night washes away like water, and Yuuri feels stuck in the mud as he repeats what he has already mastered.  


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Viktor scans the list of assignments for the Grand Prix series with impatience, registering his own name under the Cup of the China and Rostelecom. Yuuri was assigned to Skate Canada and the NHK Trophy, and Viktor sighs, turning off his phone before returning back to the ice.

  
He wins gold at both his events. On the day of the last qualifier for the Grand Prix Final, he pulls up the stream of the NHK trophy and watches with bated breath as the skaters finish their warm up on the ice.

.

A month previous, October arrives as the snow piles up in Detroit, and Phichit drags Yuuri to a frat party to celebrate the end of their midterms.

“Phichit—we’re not even part of this Alpha Chi group—” Yuuri hisses as they sneak inside, blending with other students crazed and rowdy after a week of cramming. Heavy bass music blares from someone’s phone, and Yuuri almost trips over a pile of discarded clothes.

“Relax, Yuuri!” Phichit says, laughing. “We’re here to build your confidence! Maybe get laid!”

“Get laid!?” Yuuri responds in mild panic because he really shouldn’t be fooling around with Skate Canada coming up in a couple of weeks.

“You don’t want to?” Phichit questions over the music even as he shoves a glass of champagne in Yuuri’s hand. “I don’t want to push you into anything uncomfortable, Yuuri, but it’s fine to let loose once in a while, you know?” 

Yuuri hesitates. He was maybe less horny than the average student with how demanding and time consuming figure skating was, but at the end of the day, he was just another student with a dick. But then again, the Grand Prix was coming up. 

“Did you come here to get laid?” Yuuri asks loudly over the music. “Oh my god.” Yuuri sees the hot English major Phichit had been eyeing in their one shared class approach and sighs resignedly. Phichit grins before turning to Yuuri again.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asks, and Yuuri feels almost touched that Phichit is still worried about him in this situation. 

“I’m fine—use protection,” Yuuri responds dryly and turns quickly before he could see his best friend grind on his classmate. He weaves his way through the mass of horny students and tips back the champagne, feeling his muscles relax as the liquid slides down his throat.

  
Yuuri ends up in a bed upstairs under a stranger after 5—maybe 6 more glasses. He blinks as a figure above him takes off their shirt, faintly admiring the lines of taut muscles that he could make out in the dark. The stranger leans down to capture his lips in a kiss, and Yuuri sees brown hair and dark eyes. Nice hands and smooth skin. Slender fingers that were pulling off his shirt.

“Did you take any drugs?” Yuuri asks, in a daze after having been thoroughly kissed, a sweet aftertaste lingering on his tongue. 

The stranger snorts as he licks a stripe up the side of Yuuri’s neck. “I’m an athlete too, Yuuri,” he says, amused. “Daniel. I didn’t take any drugs. This your first time?” Yuuri nods his head jerkily as Daniel reaches to unbutton his pants, wondering if his inexperience was that obvious. 

“I’m fine with slow,” Daniel reassures him. Yuuri opens his mouth to respond but is met with a warm tongue instead, and firm hands that press his hips down onto the sheets.

.

  
The sex wasn’t bad, Yuuri supposes, when he puts his clothes back on in the morning, preparing to do the walk of shame with Phichit back to their dorm. Daniel had been considerate like he’d promised, before Yuuri had gotten curious after a few rounds and told him to do it at his normal pace (it hurt like hell, but all skaters were masochists to some degree).

“Are you gay?” Yuuri had asked untactfully and under the influence of alcohol after multiple compliments on his toned muscles and flexibility. 

“No,” Daniel replied, and Yuuri shrugged, rolling his hips experimentally. “But I can be rougher with you than most girls, see? Grab you a bit stronger, bite a little harder—leave bruises and you wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s nothing compared to the ice,” Yuuri said, and a small voice in his head was annoyed that skating still occupied his mind even as he was being thoroughly fucked by a nice stranger with firm pecs and a smooth voice.

He was lucky, Yuuri thinks, to have Daniel as his first. When the digital clock struck 3 AM in the morning, Daniel had found his sensitive spots (his neck and hips), his kinks (hair pulling and other shameful things), and had fucked him in 4 different positions.

  
“That was fun,” Daniel tells him in the morning as he watched Yuuri slip on his shoes. “I’ve been wanting to do that ever since I saw you in your costume.”

Yuuri pauses. Nevermind the surprise of Daniel watching figure skating—Yuuri had chosen a nice Tchaikovsky piece last year, and the judges would’ve docked so many points if he had tried to make such a refined song sexy. “Which one?” he asks confusedly.

Daniel snorts as he flips over on his bed, hugging a pillow to his chest. “I don’t know shit about figure skating. But your black pants—they really emphasize your hips. Your thighs too.”

Yuuri flushes. “Thanks,” he responds unsurely and turns to leave. “I also had fun.”

“Mhm. And when your hair slips out of the gel at the end of your performance—you look good then too!” The door shuts with a soft click.

  
Yuuri returns to the rink later that afternoon, sore in places not caused by the ice for once. He suffers through Celestino’s lecture with Phichit, and when he practices his quads, he enters them with a little more confidence.

“Wow, Yuuri,” Phichit says, eyeing him knowingly. Yuuri groans and cringes into his hand.

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“Representing Japan, Yuuri Katsuki!”

At the end of November, Yuuri skates onto the ice of the NHK trophy feeling the most relaxed he’d been his whole career. His black pants contrast a white top that resembles a simplified yukata, much to the appreciation of the home crowd in the stands. Yuuri lets out a breath, digging his blade into the ice and assuming his starting position.

  
The strong beats of a lone taiko drum ring out in the arena, and Yuuri skates.

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Yuuri skates like the music came from his soul.

Accompany a classical piece with a few sad expressions, Viktor thinks, and most skaters could probably get away with a decent PCS. He had done that a couple times himself—got too caught up in the jumps and the footwork that he forgot the meaning of the song, so he lifted his eyebrows and lowered his eyes to match the melancholy notes.

A half-assed attempt at song interpretation. 

But Yuuri was different. He skated like the music was made to match his emotions. Viktor watches, and he notices—the delicate flip of Yuuri’s blade as he switches directions, his straight back, his graceful transition from a fast sit spin to a soothing step sequence. 

The distance Yuuri was able to cover in a few seconds. The movements that never felt disconnected as it passes through his shoulders, elbows, and wrists. 

“265.34!” the announcers say for Yuuri’s combined score, and the Japanese flags in the crowd go wild. At the Kiss and Cry, Yuuri squints at the screen for a beat before his eyes light up, and his lips split into a wide smile at the new personal best score.

Viktor had gotten 269.81 just last week at Rostelecom, himself. And the distance between them decreases once again.

>   
>  **r/Figure Skating**
> 
> **Pinned:** 2012 - 2013 NHK Trophy   
>  **89 comments**
> 
> Sort by: **Best**
> 
> **lemon490** 90 points 2 hours ago  
>  !!!!YUUUUURI KATSUKI STANS RISE THIS IS OUR YEAR!!!!! (265.34!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)  
>    
>  **Madaraxx** 5 points 2 hours ago  
>  OUR BOY IS GOING TO BEAT VIKTOR “4 TIME GPF CHAMPION” NIKIFOROV MARK MY WORDS 
> 
> **Iceicebb** 64 points 2 hours ago  
>  In literal TEARS after that amazing free program - he finally landed that 3A3TL combo!!!!!!!!!
> 
> **giaccoamole** 2 points 1 hour ago  
>  HE LOOKED SO CONFIDENT TODAY IM SO PROUD 
> 
> **3A3T2L** 1 hour ago  
>  HE BUSTED OUT 3 PERSONAL BESTS AT NHK HOME CROWD THINGS
> 
> **Skateskrt** 20 points 1 hour ago  
>  I love how the whole subreddit just fell in love w katsuki all over again AHAHA gpf hype!!!
> 
> **View Entire Discussion (89 Comments)**

  
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December arrives, and Yuuri turns 20—the decade that he would eventually retire in. The snow falls thickly outside Sochi International Airport as Yuuri waits to pick up his luggage, his free skate music playing on loop in his earbuds. A strong taiko beat followed by low cello strings accompanies his exit from the airport into the cold winds of Russia. 

.

  
For all that skating made him nervous, Yuuri hates the warm-ups more. In a room with 5 other skaters who had fought for their place at the Grand Prix Final, they were expected to warm up as a camera followed their every move. Yuuri recognizes a German skater who’d announced his retirement after this season. He sees a Chinese skater that had only been 8 points behind him in Skate Canada. 

“Yuuri, smile!” An arm drapes over his shoulder and Yuuri blinks in surprise as Christophe Giacometti takes a selfie with him. “I promised to send a pic of us to Phichit,” the Swiss skater says, winking. “Do you mind if I post this too?”

“You talk to Phichit?” Yuuri asks with surprise. Christophe laughs as he types away on his phone. 

“There are few skaters I haven’t talked to, Yuuri.”

An ISU official comes in to call them for the warm-up on the ice before Yuuri can say anything more. They enter the rink to loud cheers, and Yuuri makes out a sea of Russian flags in the stands. 

A trickle of hesitation forces its way up his throat as he thinks about his programs. Yuuri had chosen to skate about his origins this season, with both his pieces composed by Japanese artists and his costumes designed with traditional Japanese styles.

He was going to skate them in less than an hour to challenge the defending champion in his own country. He feels sick to his stomach.

Throwing up on the ice would be a new low for him, Yuuri supposes.

.

As someone who explored the rapidly modernizing social media an unhealthy amount, Viktor knows that this season was the most split the figure skating community had ever been. While some were convinced that Viktor could defend his title, others thought that the German skater could overtake him as his last hurrah before retirement. Cao Bin, from China, also performed with promising potential in his qualifying events, and perhaps Christophe, who had grown facial hair and adopted a cleaner hairstyle this year would show his growth in his skating as well.

And of course there was Yuuri, who had been slowly but surely catching up to him for several years now. Many fans hoped for an upset at this year’s Grand Prix Final.

A noise of concern ripples through the audience, and Viktor turns in time to see Yuuri get up from an evident fall. The younger skater laughs and shakes off the ice on his clothes before going over a step sequence.

Viktor skates a lap around the rink before launching into a triple axel, triple toe loop combination to the cheers of the audience. The announcer calls for the end of the warm-up, and Viktor leaves the ice first followed by the other skaters.

Yuuri wasn’t an amateur. If he couldn’t get his nerves under control after years in the senior division, the gold would be for Viktor to take home, once again.

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Fear of the ice, Yuuri supposes, would be like a swimmer being scared of the water. Minako once said that the skaters who were most familiar with the ice were the ones who fell on it the most. Those who never fall in practice, she claimed, were the ones who let a fall in competition jeopardize the rest of their program.

Tripping on his triple lutz earlier had liberated him a little. Relaxed his muscles. Reminded him that he wasn’t a figure skating genius.

Yuuri snorted and took off his gloves and jacket before skating to the center of the rink. Ice was ice. His program’s difficulty didn’t suddenly change as it crossed into Russia.

“From Japan, Yuuri Katsuki,” the announcers say over the speakers as Yuuri assumes his starting position.

Taiko drums, followed by smooth cello strings. A spread eagle into a step sequence, capped with a camel spin. Yuuri’s knee bends, his blades kick up from the ice, and he knows he’s going to land the salchow.

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The men’s free skate in the 2012 Grand Prix Finals begins with Viktor in the lead and Yuuri in second place by three points—the closest he’d been to gold his whole senior career.

“‘This year is your year,’” Phichit's voice sounds through his earbuds as he warms up, reading off comments from online forums. “‘#3pointsaway! Ganbatte Yuuri!’ ‘If Yuuri wins this year, I will ask my parents to buy me his body pillow—’”

“ _Phichit_ , what—”

“Yuuri!” Celestino calls him. “Your turn is coming up next!”

The last thing Yuuri hears from Phichit is excited screaming before he rips off his earbuds, tucking them into his jacket pockets. He heads outside as Georgi—the other Russian skater—glides into his ending pose to the cheers of the audience who were riled up as Viktor’s turn grows nearer and nearer.

“I know you can get the gold,” Celestino is saying as Yuuri takes off his skate guards. “You have worked so hard, so go out there and show them what you’ve got.” Yuuri unzips his jacket and hands it over to Celestino with a nervous smile before turning and skating out into the ice. 

“170.41 for a combined of 264.23!” the announcers reveal for Georgi, and Yuuri sees him jumping up in the Kiss and Cry as his position on the podium was guaranteed.

This year was his year, Yuuri repeats to himself, digging his blade into the ice as the audience quiets down. He looks down at his skates, and his hand crosses his body to rest by the side of his cheek. A melancholy note echoes throughout the stadium, marking the start of his free skate, and Yuuri catches a flash of silver hair near the entrance of the rink when he goes into his first spin. 

Wouldn’t it be a riot if he were to snatch the gold right under Viktor’s nose at his home stadium? Yuuri breathes, and his blades carve into the ice before launching him into a triple axel.

.

In the announcer’s booth, two men sit watching the skater on the ice intently as their comments are broadcasted to Japanese channels across the nation.

“A beautiful, clean landing on Katsuki’s first jump,” one man reports into his mic as Yuuri completes his triple axel.

“Ah, but Handa-san, that was supposed to be a quadruple salchow, wasn’t it?”

“You’re right, Meiji-san. Perhaps Katsuki is planning to incorporate it in the second half?” Handa suggests, flipping through some papers on the skaters this season.

“Yes, this year, Katsuki is closer to the gold than ever—it is not a surprise that he is modifying his program a bit at the finals.”

“It is a calculated risk—Oh!—Katsuki has landed a quadruple salchow, double toe loop combination! Not many skaters add a quad into their combination—Katsuki is showing us that he has indeed come to win this year.” 

Meiji nods as he looks over the submitted program again, noting the element changes. “Apparently no revisions were submitted to the judges, Handa-san, so if he is improvising on the spot it is certainly all the more impressive.”

“Katsuki’s confidence after landing those jumps seemed to have made his step sequence even more beautiful. I say we’re looking at a personal best here,” Handa agrees confidently. The scoreboard above the ice displays Georgi’s name at the top of the leaderboard with only Yuuri and Viktor remaining.

“And we are entering the second half of the program with an excellent Biellmann spin. Katsuki is one of the only male figure skaters who can pull this spin off and with such grace.”

“Precise footwork as always,” Handa comments appreciatively. “Popovich at rinkside looks pretty nervous—I’m sure he wants his silver medal place back after Katsuki overtook him last season.”

“Wouldn’t he be aiming for the gold against his long time rinkmate, Nikiforov?”

“Does anyone compete with Nikiforov expecting gold?”

“That’s true. Well, I can name one skater.”

“Indeed, and on the ice, Katsuki is approaching his last jump, a triple lutz—and Katsuki changes it to a quadruple toe loop!” Meiji stands up from his chair in surprise, the mic failing to catch the end of his words. “At the end of a free program—” he exclaims, leaning down hastily. “Katsuki’s stamina knows no bounds!”

"Wow." Handa watches Yuuri in awe as the cheers of the audience reverberate across the rink. “That was quite a statement he made there, adding the quad. Katsuki proves, once again quite clearly, that he is serious about the gold. It will be difficult for even Viktor Nikiforov to top that,” he proclaims into his mic. “That was the most phenomenal skate of Katsuki’s career—”

“Putting two quads in the second half of his program—the crowd is going absolutely wild,” The two men laugh as Yuuri finishes his bows and skates off the ice. 

“Katsuki has often expressed pressure from being called the season’s dark horse in past interviews.”

“Yes, but he has shown clearly tonight how deserving he is of that nickname. I’m sure he must be feeling proud of himself after that flawless performance.”

“I speak on behalf of all Japanese fans when I say that _we_ are very proud of him tonight. Katsuki is no longer a dark horse, but more like—”

“—Japan’s Ace?”

“Haha, that’s right, Meiji-san. I can’t think of a better title.”

“And Katsuki is at the Kiss and Cry with his coach, Celestino Cialdini; the scores should be coming out any time now—”

“Yes!” Handa cheers and scoots his chair closer to the mic. “Would you look at that! 178.65! A personal best! A new world record! With this, Katsuki has broken Nikiforov’s streak of breaking his own world records!”

“New records not only for the free skate but the combined program as well—truly a historical day for Japan and the figure skating world.”

“We are all looking forward to seeing how this season’s Grand Prix Finals play out—with one skate left in the night, this is the most suspense we’ve had in years!”

.  
.

  
Viktor takes off his jacket as the announcers reveal Yuuri’s score and two new world records. A deep purple top paired with black slacks and embedded with black sequins glitter underneath the lights.

“Vitya, focus!” Yakov snaps as Yuuri leaves the Kiss and Cry, the applause of the fans not stopping. “Katsuki was behind you by three points in the short—skate a clean program and get the gold, you hear me?”

“You’ll age if you keep nagging, Yakov,” Viktor says and turns to skate out into the ice.

_You leave behind high expectations, Yuuri,_ Viktor thinks as the crowd cheers even louder. At the center of the ice, he extends both hands in front of his jaw, a leg behind the other. Viktor looks up, and he meets dark brown eyes from behind the rink boards. Yuuri holds the contact in a challenge, a few strands of loose hair having escaped from his gel. 

“The Lilac Fairy” begins to play in time with the beat of Viktor’s heart.

.  
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Yuuri watches Viktor’s skating, and he knows something is different. 

“Viktor Nikiforov’s free skate this year is to “The Lilac Fairy,” composed by Tchaikovsky who seems to be a favorite of both Nikiforov and Katsuki.”

“Yes, Nikiforov has chosen to take on a more mature and elegant interpretation of this piece, highlighted by his dark costume and beautiful choreography.”

“But is that what the judges are really looking for? His PCS this season have been lower than last year’s despite the choreography being objectively more difficult.”

There was nothing wrong with Viktor’s interpretation, Yuuri knows. In fact, his purple and black costume almost fit the program too well. It’s just that Viktor hadn’t been selling his performance successfully this season—he was missing something in his skating.

Something that he seems to have found tonight. Yuuri presses his lips together as his chances of gold decrease with every step sequence Viktor skates and every jump he lands. And then Viktor is turning, gathering momentum, before launching himself into a—

“—And Nikiforov lands a quadruple flip! Viktor Nikiforov has become the first skater to land a quadruple flip in competition tonight, at the Grand Prix Finals!” The crowds in the stands go crazy as they wave their Russian flags, watching the reigning champion make history on the ice once again.

“Viktor Nikiforov manages to surprise us like always, even after the record-breaking skate by Katsuki just a few minutes earlier!”

“—And speaking of records, Nikiforov probably will be breaking one very soon himself after that successful quad flip.”

"Yes, we might see a record being broke merely minutes after it was set here tonight, folks."

  
Yuuri knows a world record performance when he sees one. He watches Viktor continue to skate into the second half amongst the deafening cheers of the audience, and a helpless laugh gets caught in his throat.

.

“Hi dad,” Yuuri says as he sits on a toilet seat in a bathroom stall, hiding from the reporters before the medal ceremony.

“Yuuri!” Katsuki Toshiya exclaims on the other side of the call. “I saw your skate—beautiful like always! That song had always been a favorite of mine, you know. The taiko at the beginning was so nostalgic.”

Yuuri laughs. “I know,” he responds warmly. “How are you?”

“I’m doing fine, Yuuri.” Toshiya hums a bit, and Yuuri hears sounds of laughter and conversation in the background. A few seconds pass, and Yuuri reaches up to rub the back of his neck.

“You sound like you want to say something,” he prompts.

“Yuuri,” his father begins, and Yuuri goes still, waiting as the smile slips off his lips.

_You haven’t been able to medal higher than a silver, Yuuri. Are you sure you want to continue figure skating?_

_Yuuri, please come home—I don’t see a future in skating for you._

_You’ve had your fun. Aren’t you going to retire now? Settle down? Get a job?_

“I’m getting remarried,” Toshiya says instead.

“..What?”

“She’s a lovely person,” Toshiya explains patiently. “She runs a hot spring back here in Hatsetsu—I’ve taken up working here for the past couple of months.”

_Months_. And suddenly, Yuuri is forced to face with out of touch he’d been with the man who had sacrificed so much for his skating career. Guilt claws its way up his throat as he realizes how selfish he was to think that his father’s life revolved around him. Of course his father should meet other people. Of course he should find happiness in his new life.

“When’s the wedding?” Yuuri asks. “I’ll try to come home—no, I will come home—”

“Oh, no, no!” Toshiya says, chuckling. “Yuuri, we’re both too old for that—just some paperwork will do. And Yuuri, of course, if you’re against it, I won’t remarry.”

“You’re happy. Why would I take that away from you?”

There was silence on the call for a beat, and Yuuri bends forwards to hug his knees, biting down to prevent a shuddering breath from escaping. 

“She’s been rewatching videos of your competitions,” Toshiya tells him, and his voice is fond. “She thinks you’re a lovely skater, Yuuri.”

Yuuri breathes out and closes his eyes. “Is she your soulmate?”

Silence permeates the call again as Toshiya shifts on the other end. “Her soulmate passed away,” he answers. “A long time ago.”

“...I see.”

.  
.  
.

When Yuuri steps onto the podium later that night, he smiles brightly for the sake of his father watching from a small seaside town near the southern tip of Japan. 

Sometimes, soulmates don’t work out. Life is short. That doesn’t prevent people from trying to find love. On the other side of the world, people move on, and new love stories begin. For tonight, Yuuri’s left hand wraps around Viktor’s waist, his right hand holds a silver medal to the camera, and he feels like the same story is looping over again and again.

When can he break out? Viktor's gold gleams in his peripheral vision, and Yuuri's grip on his own silver tightens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear i haven't forgotten about soulmates being able to switch that's the basis of my plot  
> i have never been to a frat party in my life  
> viktor nails the quad flip like 4 yrs early bc he's a genius but other than that, the other figure skating stuff should be pretty accurate by 2012 stats
> 
> thank you for commenting!!


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